


The Late Goodbye

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders will always be there for Hawke, no matter what happens.</p><p>Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Late Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Arkadian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/gifts).



> Arkady sent me a link for this wonderful song by Poets of the Fall called Late Goodbye. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3GZHSMjqg4> I became inspired by the suggestion of Hawke and Anders driving in Hawke's car late at night and out came this.

My phone vibrates, pulling me from that half-awake, half-asleep cloud of barely consciousness. My laptop sits on the bed beside me, open to Netflix which is timed out. I can't remember the movie I was in the middle of watching. My cat Pounce lies on the pillows next to me, curled up and sleeping, not even disturbed by the insistent rumbling of the phone against the wood. Groggily I reach over, checking the name. But I know there is only one person who would call me at four in the morning.

"Garrett?" I ask, trying to keep the sleep from my tone.

There's a moment of silence. Just as I'm about to ask again, he speaks.

"Anders. I… Never mind, I'm sorry I woke you."

We've been best friends for years now. He's seen more loss and pain than any person I've ever met, each of his family members falling to illness or freak accident. How many funerals can one person attend and not lose their mind? I'd been with him through them all, stayed with him. And after his mother died just a few short months ago I was with him again, holding him, driving him home after he'd nearly cleaned the bar out of liquor. Held him after as he was sick all over me. I didn't care. We sat in the shower together, soaking wet through our clothes as he cried.

"It's fine, I'm awake. I wasn't really sleeping." Not quite a lie. "What is it?"

"Merrill's left. Her family… she decided she'd rather mend relations with them. Meant cutting ties with me."

I'm already out of bed, pulling on the pair of jeans that I'd slipped out of earlier, running my fingers through my hair.

"Maker, Garrett. Where are you?"

"…Outside your apartment."

I stop at that, cross to the window, look down. He's there. His old beat up Dodge Charger sitting with the lights on. I can just see him in the driver's seat.

"You haven't been drinking, have you?"

"Not yet."

Good. At least he wasn't acting foolish and driving drunk, not that I could've blamed him fully.

"I'll be right down."

I grab my keys and wallet, pull on my hoodie and head out, locking up behind me. In a few seconds I'm down the stairs and out the door, slipping into the passenger side seat.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask.

He shakes his head, puts the car into gear and pulls out. I can see the tears on his cheeks and he says nothing. We drive.

We drive for a long time, heading east up the coast. The lights change from red to green as we approach, no other cars on the road this time of night. It's not until we pull onto the highway that he starts talking. When he does, it comes out in a babble.

"I can't believe she left. She took all her things and just… she left me a note. She said it wasn't possible. Someone like her and someone like me. She wanted her family. Not that I can blame her," he adds with a slight sniff, wiping the back of his hand against his cheek and crushing my heart in the process. "I just wanted to make her happy. I thought I made her happy. She said she was. And then she leaves. And gives me a note. Her family gave her the ultimatum. Leave me and come home, or never come home. I just can't believe she's gone. She was the best thing in my life for a while, especially after Mother died."

The statement hurts a little, but I know he doesn't mean it the way he says it. Merrill did make him happy, she was good for him, if a little ungrounded. Unassuming and a bit naïve. She never asked too much of him though he'd have given her the world if she wanted it. Too many people have taken advantage of him, of his hospitality, of his money. They ask favors and he gives, because that's what Garrett does. He never takes anything for himself, which is why I never mind when he calls me late at night, when we go for these drives.

The mile markers pass, the high beams reflecting the green and white signs. A lone tractor-trailer lumbers on ahead, and we pass it easily. He leans over and flicks on the radio, changing the channel until some quiet guitar playing fills the car. A man's sad vocals accompany it. I don't know the song, but it seems to fit the mood as Hawke sighs heavily. I'm not sure how far we're going tonight. Once, after his sister passed, we made it all the way to Ostwick and had to rent a hotel room before going back.

"What is it about me?" he asks, gripping the steering wheel.

"It's nothing to do with you," I assure him. "Sometimes life is just horrible that way. Garrett, you're the most selfless person I know."

"Bad things happening to good people," he says bitterly. "If I'd known that was the case, I would've started knocking off department stores and robbing banks before my father died."

There's a wry, sad laugh that pulls at my chest, and I want to take him in my arms and hold him, comfort him. I love him, but it never seems I can tell him that. The moment isn't right, or another tragedy strikes. In just over fifteen years, less than half his life, he's lost everyone he's ever loved either through illness or accident or them walking out of his life. Except me. I would never leave him. I think he feels guilty for that and I wonder if he knows how I feel about him. I've never taken a lover. Oh there have been trysts here and there, but aside from a brief dalliance with our college professor, no one really of note. 

No. For me, it's always been Garrett.

Suddenly he changes lanes, pulling into a rest stop, turning off the engine but leaving the radio on. The parking lot is dark, just two lone lights and a stretch of forest. I shiver; it's almost like a horror movie looking up at the tan brick building that appears abandoned. The fluorescent lights flicker, and inside I know the shops are closed for the night. Vending machines bearing road food, perhaps a cappuccino machine that mixes hot water and powder and never tastes as good as the real thing. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel and I see his shoulders shaking.

I unbuckle my belt, glad not for the first time for the Charger's bench seat as I slide over without a pesky console in the way, and take him in my arms. He removes his own seatbelt and buries his face in my chest. He's a quiet crier. His breath will hitch and you'll hear a sniff or two, but he doesn't sob. I think he's afraid of being seen as less than a man, the stigma of crying proposing weakness. On the contrary, if you've suffered as much as Garrett and barely shed a tear, you'd have to be a monster. A sociopath. To feel is to be human, and I try to remind him of that every time.

"I just want something good, Anders," he whispers.

"You have me," I joke lightly, and wince, thinking perhaps this isn't the time.

He looks up, and I can't help myself, I brush away his tears. In the darkness I can see his eyes, their deep green that reminds me of the forests in Ferelden. Kirkwall with all its stone and brick and industry can't match up to the foliage of the country we shared once. We stay like that for a moment, and I can feel him gripping my hoodie, see even in the shadows cast by the parking lot's lights the dark scruff on his cheeks. In three days' time it'll be a full beard, but he's been shaving. Merrill always liked him clean. I prefer him like this.

Without thinking, I cup the scruffy cheek, brushing the stubble, feeling the prickles of each hair over the pad of my thumb. His lips part slightly, breath coming out in soft, warm puffs. I can feel them against my own. We're so close, and it's like electricity between us. I want…

And then he's there, kissing me, and I can't imagine anything better. How long I've wanted this, to feel him in my arms not as a friend but as a lover, to kiss him, to take away the pain, to make him forget the hand that Maker has dealt him and just feel. To let someone take care of him for a change, to let him lean on someone. And I would be that one.

He pulls back, and I miss him at once, but I don't press.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't…"

"I don't mind," I reply quietly.

"You deserve better. I… I must be on the rebound."

"Even if you are," I whisper, "I'll still be here after."

"Anders…"

"I love you, Garrett. I always will."

The song on the radio changes, the plucking of a guitar, something just as slow, just as sad.

"You're my best friend," he says carefully. "You've seen… you've seen how… weak I am. How could you want…"

"No," I assure him with a slight smile, kissing his forehead. "You're the strongest person I know. But… I want to be strong for you when you can't be."

He thinks a moment, the corners of his mouth tugged down into a slight frown and I can't help myself. I kiss him again. He ends up in my arms after, face against my shoulder and I hold him. We sit there for a long time, the songs on the radio changing one after the other. The sun starts to come up, the sky outside lightening from inky black to a lighter blue until the first rays of real color start to permeate the clouds. In a few minutes' time, the most beautiful pinks, gorgeous dusky oranges groggily swirl into being. He grips my arm and looks up at me.

"I love you," he says finally. "You're the one good thing left in my life. I want…"

But instead of finishing his sentence, he just kisses me again. When it ends, I'm breathless.

"Get breakfast with me," he pleads. "Then let me stay with you?"

I nod.

"Can you drive?"

I nod again.

He gets out and I slide into the driver's seat as he crosses to the other side. Once I pull out and head back onto the highway, heading west for home, he moves next to me and my arm goes automatically around him. The sun lights up the city of Kirkwall as we approach, and I can't help but smile a little.

I promise myself no matter what, I will always be there for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to add that first person, present tense isn't my usual writing style, but the stream of consciousness kind of took over a bit. /out before rambling starts!


End file.
